A lilac sky lies over winter-black hills and I wonder why you chose me.
You stumble and seem alarmed at having been asked a question directly.
I think I did that to you.
I see now that I am like wind, like water;
who could stand before me?
I have bent your will.
I have tried to make you into what I myself long to be.
But your nature resists and
I was wrong to try.
I will alter my banks and flow another way.
What force will shape you then?